


failure, disorder, distortion

by rumpledlinen



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 04:38:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rumpledlinen/pseuds/rumpledlinen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People say she doesn’t have a heart. They’re wrong. She has a heart big as the sun but she chooses to fill it with only a few people.</p><p>Will Graham wasn’t supposed to be one of them; but Will Graham was wrongfully imprisoned and she didn’t manage to get him out and she’s always felt something like guilt for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	failure, disorder, distortion

**Author's Note:**

> for a prompt at portions_forfox's "no shame" ficathon, over at LJ: the prompter wanted "Freddie/Will, I think perfection is ugly. I want to see scars, failure, disorder, distortion". 
> 
> a note: this is post-red dragon, but freddie survives (she's still burned but with her lips and also not dead). :)

She takes a leave from TattleCrime. Her boss looks at her with a sort of forced resignation, and if she were anyone else, she would be fired; but she is Freddie Lounds and there's no way they're getting rid of her.

She sleeps on the plane, takes two Benadryl and passes out as the plane's taking off. She wakes up in Florida to a young man tugging at her sleeve, going "Miss? We're here". 

Her heels click on the tile. Her wheeled bag drags behind her. 

She has his address in her hand, but nothing else; all she knows is that he got attacked, his wife left him. This is one situation she didn’t want to pry into; she could have taken the case, interviewed some of the people, maybe made a lot more money - but Will doesn’t deserve that.

(People say she doesn’t have a heart. They’re wrong. She has a heart big as the sun but she chooses to fill it with only a few people.

Will Graham wasn’t supposed to be one of them; but Will Graham was wrongfully imprisoned and she didn’t manage to get him out and she’s always felt something like guilt for it.)

*

It’s raining when she knocks on his door. She’s in a skirt and tanktop, changed from her heels to flats. It’s muggy here, and she wonders how Will can stand it - but, she supposes, it’s the opposite of Virginia, and she can’t really blame him for needing a new start.

Will’s in sweatpants and a gray t-shirt. His face has been hacked open; he squints at her and one of his eyes looks like it’s messed up. “Freddie Lounds?” His voice is rough from disuse; his jaw has a cut across it.

She notices these things idly, but most of all she notices -

He doesn’t scare her. 

She smiles, wide. It’s not her practiced smile, it’s genuine; she lets her dimples show. “Can I come inside?”

Will lets her in. What seems like a team of dogs come up to her, sniffing her, and she laughs as she bends down to pet them. She can feel Will’s eyes on her, searching, and she looks at him, biting her lip.

“I’m not here for a story,” she says. “I’m here because I heard what happened and I thought you might need someone.”

“I don’t need anyone,” Will goes, and shakes his head. He moves into the kitchen; there’s the sound of the tap running and Will comes back out with a glass of water. “I’m sorry if you wanted something - I haven’t been shopping in a while - I have, uh, beer and whiskey?” He winces, rubs at his face, days of scruff in uneven patches around the scars. 

Freddie frowns. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“Last time you talked to me you said -”

“I’d just been set on fire,” she goes, dry, “cut me some slack.”

Will laughs at that. It sounds like his laugh hasn’t been used in a while; he hasn’t had much to laugh at lately, Freddie supposes.

She grins back at him, and can feel his eyes on her face, tracing the burn marks. “Do you get used to it?” he asks, quiet.

She shakes her head. “I woke up the other night and saw myself in the mirror and scared the hell out of myself,” she admits, wry. “It doesn’t get easier but -” she cuts herself off, pausing for a long moment. “It gets manageable, after a time.”

Will nods. “They kept saying,” he goes, “that I’d get used to it - but I didn’t think so. Don’t think so.” He takes a long sip of his water, eyes fixed outside his window. The rain is slowing now; a heaviness stays in the air.

“Would you mind if I came back?” Freddie asks, frowning. “At a time you choose - I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable with this. With me.”

Will looks taken aback, but nods, jerky movements. “Yeah,” he says, and another smile flits across his face. “Tomorrow at, uh -” he looks at the clock, wrings his fingers together, “three? Here?”

“Sounds good,” and she has to actively try to not go back to her practiced smile; has to try to make it genuine. 

If Will’s soft grin is anything to go by, she succeeds. 

*

She’s half worried he’ll dress up for her, but he’s just wearing cargo shorts and a loose-fitting shirt. When he stretches to close the window from the top, the shirt rides up and she can see the bottom of his scar on his stomach. She closes her eyes, tight, and forces herself not to mention it, call attention. 

“You look lovely,” he tells her, half-grinning; she’s wearing a sundress and her hair in a braid and she turns pink.

They go to the beach. The sand is wet but Will plops down and she isn’t going to stand while he’s sitting. 

He’s shaved; his scars are prominently on display and she thinks idly that he’s beautiful like this, more so than he was before. (Perfection isn’t all that beautiful, she thinks. Scars are proof of a life lived, of battles fought.)

She tangles her fingers with his, rests her head on his shoulder, and they sit for a long moment, breathing in tandem.

“My wife left me,” Will says. He adjusts his glasses and she pretends she doesn’t notice that he wipes at his eyes. 

She nods. “I know.”

“Jesus,” Will goes, shaking his head, and he stares at the water, chewing on his lip. “I don’t blame her.”

“Why?”

“We were having problems.” Will breathes out, sharp. “She didn’t like - what I did.”

“But you quit.”

“Now.” Will sighs. “It was too much for her, her and Willy.”

“Your son?”

“Not mine.” Will grimaces. “Miss him like he was my son, though.”

She squeezes his fingers tighter, and doesn’t say anything else.

“How long are you going to be in town?”

“I have enough clothes for a week. I’m staying at a hotel near here.”

“You came down to Florida just to see me?”

She looks at him and turns pink again, smiling down at her lap. “I did.”

*

He invites her in for dinner; he’s made salad. “It’s not very much,” he says, wincing.

Freddie smiles, wide. “Thank you,” she says, and she means it.

*

“Sometimes I don’t think I’ll ever be able to find someone else,” he tells her, quiet, that evening. 

“You will,” she promises. 

He looks at her, sharp. “You can’t say that. Look at -”

“Don’t pull this pitying bullshit,” she tells him, a laugh in her voice. “You’re still attractive.”

He looks at her out of the side of his eye. “Yeah?”

She rolls her eyes. “Stop fishing, Graham.”

“You, too,” he says, leaning over to look her in the eyes, “you’re still - too. You know.”

She laughs, bright, happy. “I know. I’m not - ashamed.”

“When does that start?” he asks, picking at the label on his beer. (It’s his first of the night; Freddie’s keeping an eye on him, doesn’t know what she’d do with a drunk Will Graham.)

“Soon,” she promises; she remembers hating the way she looked in the mirror and she remembers hating Will for it; but now, now she doesn’t mind, almost likes the way they look. _Battle scars_ , she tells herself when it all gets to be too much. Battle scars.

Will nods, and stares at fireflies flitting around the yard. “I hope so.”

She grabs his hand again, squeezes his fingers tight, and doesn’t say anything. Inside the house, a dog scratches at the door and Will stands up to let him out, watches him run around the yard.

It’s nice, being here in Florida; Freddie idly thinks she doesn’t ever really want to leave.

*

“I see why you stay here,” she tells him the next morning. It’s nine am and she’s woken him up, she’s sure of it. He rubs blearily at his eyes and doesn’t say anything, steps to the side to let her in.

“Coffee, please,” she tells him, perching on one of his chairs. She feels invigorated; she’d just been walking around this morning, and everything had seemed so much more lush and alive. 

Will doesn’t speak until he has caffeine in his system, but when he does it’s with a comfortable ease he certainly hasn’t had until now.

Freddie counts it as a victory.

*

“Where are your fishing poles?” she asks, looking around his house. There’s nothing; no lures, no rods, no fishing knives. It seems bare, to have Will’s house without them. (She’d never been inside his house but she’d read the reports, the articles, that had come out after; just like everyone else.)

“I, uh, I don’t eat meat anymore,” Will tells her, swallowing hard. “I can’t, after -”

And “I understand,” she tells him, honest.

*

On her next-to-last day, he kisses her, sweet and quick.

She smirks at him and kisses him properly, wrapping her arms around his neck, pushing him down onto the couch.

“Stay,” he tells her; “please, just another few days.”

She smiles, soft and fond; she’s incredibly fond of this quiet man with scars on his face. “Okay,” she tells him (her editor won’t mind, she’s sure of it; and maybe she can get him to come up with her, sometime). 

“Okay,” he says, and pulls her in for another kiss.


End file.
